


Collar

by bell (belldreams)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Audience, Biting, Indulgent, M/M, PWP, Undercover Dom/Sub Relationship, dubcon, self-lubricating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-28 07:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belldreams/pseuds/bell
Summary: “You have to be sure, Anakin. Once we’re in, we’re in.”“I think I can handle being your sub, Obi-Wan."





	1. Chapter 1

The leather binds his throat. Even if he couldn't feel its weight against his collar bone; even if the supple texture didn't ride against his skin, Anakin could never forget it's there. A thoughtless twist of his head and his Adam's apple is caught. His breath catches. 

He's hyper aware of the gold link chain tied from his throat to Obi-Wan’s cuff.

One wrong move and Obi-Wan could yank his leash; bring him to the brink of suffocation with one long pull.

All this power Obi-Wan yields. Y his master ambles companionably, letting Anakin take the lead. 

How's he going to survive this mission?

*

“You have to be sure, Anakin. Once we’re in, we’re in.”

He's not sure of what he's even feeling. Molten pride, determination to prove he can take on the hardest tasks? Blinding rage at the rumors of a Core planet engaging in slavery? Or fear, to relinquish control? 

No. He's not afraid. He's not allowed. 

“I think I can handle being your sub, Obi-Wan,” Anakin drawls.

His Master’s eyes are gray and serious. “It won't be just play, you realize. We don't know what they'll expect from us. I might have to--” his pause is so strange. He’s always so confident. “I might have to hurt you.”

Heat spreads through Anakin. For once, he's read the brief. Electric shocks. Hard hands against bare, red asses. Nails in flesh. It's odd, but in the recordings all the subs look-- ecstatic. One wailed. It sounded like pure pleasure. “I'm a Jedi, Master. I think I can handle a little pain.” 

The intensity of Obi-Wan’s gaze is searing. Imagine, a traitorous voice says in his head, the burn of his touch. “If you say so, Anakin, then I will believe you.”

What a fool his Master is. How can he believe in him when Anakin himself doesn’t?

*

The metal link is as delicate as spun silk. It tinkles softly as they walk through the Neelem Palace, a counterpoint to their echoing steps on marble. Anakin’s face is on fire. Hopefully no one sees. His head is bowed in the custom of this planet’s subs. No eye contact; all the shame as he is led like a dog on a leash. 

The worst of it is, it doesn’t feel that bad. 

His flaring blush contrasts against the cool of his exposed torso. Subs are not allowed shirts, apparently. It’s hot enough that he won’t catch chill or anything. If anything, he’s sweating. Anakin just feels so-- naked. Obi-Wan barely batted an eye when he came out of the fresher in his undercover outfit, black pants so tight they rub with his every movement. 

Obi-Wan himself wore a loose blouse tied at the stomach. The creamy tan of the fabric works well with the chesnut of his pants. As per the local fashion, the top three buttons remain undone. It affords a view of his Master’s strong chest; the auburn of his hair. 

“How do I look,” Anakin said, flippant. Refusing to be weak before his Master.

“You look the part,” Obi-Wan replied. He had the chain ready. He clipped the gold to Anakin’s collar like it was nothing. Like he was flicking on the switch for heat or brushing dust from a surface. But it’s not nothing. Anywhere Obi-Wan goes now, Anakin must follow or be choked. “Are you ready?” 

It’s the wrong question. He’ll never be ready. “Let’s go.” 

*

Other subs walk the hallways with their Masters. Glints of gold catch the sun everywhere Anakin goes. These couples walk together: elbows linked, hands on the small of backs, subs leaning their heads against the Master’s shoulder. Only Obi-Wan walks behind, not touching Anakin. There’s so much to feel conspicuous about. The collar. Being topless. The humility in presenting as a sub. But the distance from his Master is what makes Anakin feel smallest. He knows they’re not really sub and Master. It’s a ploy. They’re blending in. But it grates. Like Obi-Wan doesn’t appreciate his service.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs. 

His hairs stand on end. “I thought you were supposed to call me ‘pet.’” If he’s joking or angry, Obi-Wan will have to figure out for himself, because Anakin has no idea what he’s feeling.

“I thought you might like it better when it’s private if I dropped the pretense.” 

No, Anakin does know. He’s not joking. He’s livid. He can’t let it show to Obi-Wan this is getting to him, this ruse of being his Master’s pet. He said he could do this. He’s stronger than this. “Whatever.” 

“I think we’re standing out,” Obi-Wan says. 

“Two Coruscanti thrown into Neelem? Of course we do.” 

“I mean, yes, we’re from off-planet, clearly. But the others--” Again Obi-Wan hesitates. Anakin hates it when he does that. His Master should always be sure. “Do you see them? They’re walking together.” 

Anakin’s heart races. “What’re you saying?” 

Obi-Wan’s voice from behind him is unnerving. So close. Not close enough. “Can I pull you into me?” And just like that, his heart plummets, no longer beating. Pulled. Into Obi-Wan. His mind freezes on that thought, unable to advance. More feelings, of fire and burning. “I want to make sure we sell our act.” 

The flames die out. “Yeah, sure.” 

If Obi-Wan notices how defeated Anakin sounds, he says nothing as he steps into Anakin. His arm is strong and sure as it moves behind his back. Anakin’s spine tingles at the brush of flesh. He grips Anakin’s hip, thumb resting against his side, suddenly as sensitive as a butterfly. Their steps are in tandem, hip swaying against hip. Anakin almost falters. 

But just as with the linking of chain to collar, Obi-Wan remains unaffected. He doesn’t care.

*

“Welcome, Jedi,” the Baron says. He taps his bioluminescent sceptre. “We’re honoured to have you visit our humble planet.” 

He stands with Obi-Wan on a long crimson carpet made of luscious, soft feathers. The carpet extends from the room’s entrance up the stairs to the throne. The Baron’s seat, stately and magnificent, glimmers with the carapaces of a million iridescent beetles. Parallel to the carpet on either side of them stand the Court denizens. Some half-dressed like him, unselfconsciously linked by the throat. Anakin shifts, unsure where to look. His gaze skips over the room. Nowhere’s safe. 

“It is our pleasure.” Obi-Wan presents a bow. “And this is more than a visit. My pet and I, we’d like to follow your ways.” 

“Hm,” the Baron murmurs. “But you understand our skepticism. The high and mighty Jedi, debasing themselves with the like of us? Seems unlikely.”

“I’m sure you've heard of unlikelier things.” His master has turned on his infamous charisma, a weapon during negotiations. Anakin’s seen many yield to its power. 

“True. But not many. So you’ll understand that we need more proof.” 

Anakin wants to yell. He’s here, isn’t it? He’s following their dumb rules, leashed to the man he wants to impress more than anyone in the universe. What more do they want? But he can’t talk. As Obi-Wan’s pet, he’s not allowed. 

“Proof?” Obi-Wan asks, cool as you please. His assurance does something to ease Anakin’s anger. Whatever happens, they’re in this together. 

“Oh, anyone can strut in here half-naked chained to someone else. But it takes more than that.” 

Anakin over-warms. Images from the brief flash in his mind. Bent figures, angry welts across their back. He can’t get their moans out of his head. They sound— it doesn’t sound like the anguish he hears when a soldier falls wounded. He doesn’t understand. 

“I take your meaning,” Obi-Wan says. For the first time since Anakin walked out in his undercover ‘costume,’ Obi-Wan seeks his gaze. Without a word, Anakin understands. He’s asking for permission. He’d end this charade, no questions asked, if it’s what Anakin wants. He’d ruin their mission and any chances for other Jedi to do subterfuge work here.

Anakin’s stomach clenches. He doesn’t want to. He does. 

He's strong. He can withstand this ridiculous ritual. As he said, he can handle pain. Pain he willingly surrenders to. Pain to prove his submission.

He wants to throw up.

But it's Obi-Wan. Calm, patient, giving. Anakin would trust him with anything. If it were anyone else, he'd storm out now, tearing the chain with the Force. He doesn't have to do this. But he can. With Obi-Wan, he'll be safe.

Anakin gives the subtlest of nods. Something flickers through his Master’s expression. His eyebrows knit; bites his lips. Before Anakin can decipher what it means, Obi-Wan’s face is placid again. “On your knees, pet.”

Breathe. Focus. It's Obi-Wan. It's okay. The feathers cushion his knees and shins. 

“Hands on your back.”

The trembling is involuntary. Wrists held together and Anakin feels caged already. The eyes of the Court are on him, judging, do they know the secret thrill electrifying his gut? He's not enjoying this, he's not, he's not a born slave, he's better than that--

A warm pulse from the Force. Obi-Wan. The waves of energy are kind and comforting. He’s not alone. Anakin closes his eyes. Unthinkingly, he crosses his wrists close together. When Obi-Wan ties the other end of their golden chain, it is as soft as a sigh. Anakin's now bound from throat to wrist, no longer linked to his Master. As ritual has it, their bond will be--deeper.

He has no idea why, but his cock throbs.

“Valyndri,” the Baron calls. 

A beautiful woman with sweeping dark hair descends the stairs, holding aloft a red velvet pillow with gold tassels. The sway of her locks around her bare chest is hypnotizing. Anakin stares, transfixed, as she walks to him, her chin held high and certain. She’s a pet, isn’t she? How can she be so— happy. 

“Anakin, right?” she whispers. A dimple dots her smile. “Have you taken this before?” 

Two pills lie on the cushion in careful indentations. One, white and round, smaller than a khyber crystal. Anakin barely notices the other one, longer and robin blue. The white one is his. He knows, somehow. It almost pulses with energy; calls him. 

“Ah, it’s your first time.” She eyes him head to toy; her gaze is far too discerning. “He hasn’t taken you yet, has he,” she whispers again, low enough only he can hear. 

Anakin’s never-ending blush intensifies. Stars, he can’t get an erection now. Everyone would see.

“I’m glad he finally will.” 

The surge of emotion in Anakin is indescribable. Rage. Curiosity. Hope. He hates this mission, he can’t even talk. He has to bite his tongue to reign it in.

“Here,” the pet says. “I think you’ll enjoy it.” He doesn’t know why he opens his mouth. She hand-feeds him the pill and it dissolves with a sweet, fruity fizz. He regrets his impulsiveness as he licks the last of the taste from his lips. What’s this going to do to him? But the pet just beams, clearly satisfied.

“And for you, sir,” she says to Obi-Wan. She presents him the pillow and he casually imbibes his own capsule. Doesn’t even bat an eye. 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says. Of course he’s polite to the person who just drugged them with who the heck knows what. 

“You know what comes next?” the Baron asks.

“Of course.” Obi-Wan turns to Anakin. Arms behind his chest, he walks around him. Examining. Obi-Wan looks— approving. Like he likes what he sees. A fresh surge of sweat bursts on Anakin’s skin. This is just an act, it means nothing, they are pretending— “Pet.” Anakin can’t help but straighten his back at the firmness of his tone. Tenses at Obi-Wan’s unwavering gaze. He could melt under that heat. “Do you swear loyalty to me?” 

A bead of sweat breaks on Anakin’s forehead. No. He can’t do this. It’s an anathema to all he’s fought for. He left his mom and home for independence. He’s better than this. 

A gentle balm washes over him in the Force. Obi-Wan’s energy. It’s a reminder: this is a choice. They can stop anytime. Obi-Wan believes in him. 

Anakin sways. “Yes,” he answers at last. His mouth is sand. Adrenaline bids him to bolt; to throw himself at Obi-Wan.

“Yes, what?” 

Never mind that he’s called Obi-Wan by this title for years and years; that in his mind, he still thinks of him that way. Strangers watch them, mildly curious. He’s half-naked and on his knees. To say it out loud will be a public admission. He can’t laugh this off. Anakin isn’t acting. It might be for the mission, but he can’t lie anymore. Anything he says here will be permanent. True. Anakin licks his dry lips. Shivers. How can he be so hot yet trembling like he’s sunk into a frozen lake? “Yes. Master.” 

He closes his eyes. There. It’s said and done. May the Force see his heart to safety. 

Calloused fingers draw the line of his jaw. Anakin leans into the touch, both a comfort and endorphin spike. “Good boy.” It should not sound so amazing. He wants more. From his own Master. He’s not going to survive. “You've earned your reward.”

His reward? Hah. Pain. In front of everyone. 

He can still run. Before anyone finds out the truth. Before Obi-Wan knows—

The hand on his shoulder grounds him. The only thing running are the tears on his face. Stars, how could he put himself in this situation, at anyone’s mercy. How can he be this hard.

His Master kneels behind him. Anakin wills himself to stay still. To not grind into the body behind him. He still has his dignity. Maybe. Sort of. 

A warm, damp breath blows behind his ears. Anakin whimpers, buckles. He can’t help it, his Master is scorching hot, and he wants this, he can’t hide it, everyone is going to know. Suddenly, a strange sensation from the top of his thighs. It takes Anakin a moment to realize: his hole is wet. What in blazing— but before he can ponder this mystery any further, his Master’s teeth scrape along the tender flesh on the back of his neck. Another gush from his entrance accompanies the moan he tries to keep silent. He should fight. Escape. But he needs, he needs, he needs— 

“Still, my pet. You’ll hurt yourself.” Why does Obi-Wan’s whisper have to be so fucking sexy. 

Possessed, Anakin rubs his back into his Master. “I’m going to kill you,” he moans. This is Obi-Wan’s fault for ever letting him get in this mess. 

“Certainly. As long as you get through this, I’ll do anything for you. So. Survive.” 

And that’s when his Master’s teeth sink in, hard, and stars, since when where they this long and sharp and it hurts, it hurts, he can’t get away, his Master is pinning him down and Anakin cries, thrashing, leaning into the bite, more slick pouring out, and he can’t make sense of anything, he just feels and feels— The canines dig deeper into the space between throat and shoulder. His Master holds him in place, muscled arm holding firm against his belly. Anakin couldn’t move even if he wanted to. “Ohhhh.” Is that his own voice? It can’t be, it sounds nothing like him. Anakin spasms uncontrollably. “Nhhnngh.” Now his dick is seeping and he doesn’t know which hurts more, his Master’s teeth in his flesh or how he can’t jerk himself off. His back arches; rubs into his Master’s clothed chest. How’s he ever going to live this down?

The searing pain decreases bit by tiny bit, leaving just a dull ache. Obi-Wan’s withdrawn his teeth. Shaking, Anakin crumbles to the floor. The feathers tickle his cheek. Sensitive, their texture are overwhelming. Anakin closes his eyes. Distantly, he hears the cheering of dozens of voices. Is that blood trickling down his flesh? It feels wet and raw on his throat. Still hard, Anakin squirms, this close to rutting into the floor, but the soft feathers are excruciating against his skin, more tender than an open wound. How did Obi-Wan get him this hard? 

Stars, he’ll never live this down. The great Anakin Skywalker gets off on pain.

Well. There’s nothing left to hide. 

“—so well, I’m so proud, Anakin.” Wait. That’s Obi-Wan. Launched into a litany. Anakin’s tensed muscles relax, melting into brightness of his Master’s voice. “Are you ready for more?” His pants aren’t just too tight now. They’re a mess from his leaking hole and dick. He’s more than ready. He wants and wants. But he can't say so, and not just because he's forbidden from doing so as his Master’s pet. “Shhhhh, you’re okay.” A light touch across his back. Stars. He’s so pathetic Obi-Wan is whispering comforting words. It’s just a bite. His entire arm’s been lopped off, this should be nothing. Yet the mark in the junction of his throat and shoulder radiates pain. The hurt is inside him, lava in his veins. “Give me a sign, Anakin. Are you ready?” 

If he doesn’t signal, Obi-Wan will stop. He’d never proceed without Anakin’s consent. They’ll fail. This public shaming will have been for nothing. 

He has to consent. Somehow. He closes his eyes again. Pushes away the fear and shame. Slows his speeding heart and breath until his vitals are smoothed out, calm as ocean waters and regular as the tide. He’s all right. Strong. Anakin seeks Obi-Wan’s mind in the Force. Presses his inner peace onto him. Obi-Wan returns warm and joyful energy. The sun. This whole situation is weird and unsettling. But they’re together. Together, they’re invincible.

Their energy signatures twine like a Padawan’s braid. Their bond reaffirmed, Anakin shares the images he’d never dared let himself think. His lips, swollen from hard kisses and bites, closing over his Master’s length. Obi-Wan fucking his mouth ruthlessly. Obi-Wan pushing him face-first into a transparasteel window and sliding his cock into his ass; fucking him so hard Anakin sees stars, body splayed so anyone and everyone can see. His Master’s teeth piercing him again as his cock thrusts in deeper and deeper. 

“Oh, Anakin.” But there’s none of the judgement he once feared. More— reverence. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” 

His Master’s fingers trace his spine, pauses over his ass. On his elbows, forehead pressed into the ground, Anakin wriggles, these pants are ruined with his slick and he’s done with them, they’re between him and Obi-Wan’s touch, and when the air hits his suddenly exposed flesh, he hisses. Fevers with a full-body blush. Obi-Wan’s seeing just how wet he’s become. Sharing fantasies is one thing, but his body’s doing things he doesn’t understand. Anakin bites his hand. It’s so hard to keep from talking. He can’t explain anything. Even if he knew how to. 

Anakin gasps. His Master’s touching him— he can’t even think it. It’s too obscene. Never mind imagining fucking, or the slick, Obi-Wan’s fingers are on the back of his thigh. Since when is he so sensitive there? And he doesn’t stop. He’s stroking him slowly, rubbing Anakin’s wet into his skin in lazy circles. Anakin whimpers. What’s happening? “Shhh,” his Master says. “You read the brief. You know what I’m about to do.” 

That sounds so clinical. ‘In the brief.’ Well, the brief said the ritual is a thorough finger-fucking before the whole court. It sounded so feasible on Coruscant. Fingers in his ass, yeah, whatever. Couldn’t be worse than being electrocuted or jumping out of an exploding ship. Just another day in his Jedi life. The brief never said anything about how damn intimate it’d be. 

As if from another plane of existence, Anakin hears voices. Shouts? They want to know what’s taking so long. 

“Don’t mind them. Just remember. I’ve got you.” 

Anakin leans his full psychic weight onto Obi-Wan. If he is to yield his body this far, he’ll need all the support he can get. 

If he had to describe it in layman terms, Obi-Wan— hugs him in the Force. Whispers assurances. 

Just as he strokes the back of Anakin’s balls. “Ah!” 

“Mm, was that too sudden? My apologies.” But his touch lingers, cupping the tender flesh. “But how does it feel?” Exquisite. Overwhelming. Out of this world. It’s just as well Anakin’s been forbidden from speaking. There’s no way to put word how it “feels” when his Master does that. Anakin’s head rolls on his forearms, his whole body squirming away and into that touch. “I see. Then let me warn you, I’m moving up.” 

Up. Up across his balls, away from his heavy, dripping dick, and into his slick-covered crack. His body acts of his own accord, jolting and pressing up into Obi-Wan’s fingers for more. The sound of Obi-Wan’s chuckle penetrates Anakin’s haze. “Is that how it is.” 

Sometimes his Master’s smug condescension drives him crazy—

But not as much as when Obi-Wan slides the side of his hand down his entire backside. Anakin buckles. Stars. Again, again, again— Obi-Wan obliges the silent plea, stroking faster and harder against his entrance. He teases Anakin’s hole, rubbing the perimeter over and over. An accidental slip in; a jolt electrifies Anakin all the way down his spine to his toes. “You like this,” Obi-Wan says. His fingers keep on circling. Is there no end to this torture? “I bet you’ll like this too.” A finger penetrates further; curls and touches him inside. A wet squelch accompanies the motion. It’s— it’s not like anything Anakin’s every felt in his life. “That good?” 

Anakin, face burning, pushes back into the pressure, driving Obi-Wan in deeper. How wanton he’s become. Whimpering like a HoloNet porn star. He can’t help it. And, to be fair, Obi-Wan seems happy to oblige. Is it for the mission or— but Anakin can’t think about that now. He’ll fall to pieces. More than he already has. Obi-Wan’s proved he’ll support Anakin through this arcane ritual. That should be enough. It’ll have to be.

“Look at you. Taking me so well. You’re ready for more, aren’t you.” Anakin has no idea if he could even stretch further. Yet, in his head he screams: yes, yes, yes. “All right.” His entrance stretches again, wider. The pressure becomes more. He claws at the feathered carpet. “How’s that?” 

Not enough. Cheek grinding into the ground, Anakin wriggles his hips for more, more, more. 

“So wet for me.” Obi-Wan says it like it’s praise. “So loose, pet, you’re doing so well.” Is doing well being face-first against the floor trying to fuck himself harder and deeper into his Master’s fingers? Because that’s where Anakin’s at. “You’re beautiful.” Anakin gasps, a fresh load of slick pouring from his body. It runs down his thighs. The liquid is thick and viscous. Obi-Wan’s hand must be coated by now. He can’t mean any of what he’s saying. “But I do mean it.” Anakin can’t even process what that means, too pierced and stimulated. 

“Pet, I’m inserting a third finger.” Even with the warning the intrusion makes Anakin’s breath catch. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.” The digits paused at his entrance make deliberate circles. Anakin pants, unable to stop from drooling. He’s wet at both ends. He never wants this end. Can’t take this teasing anymore. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” There’s nothing to hide. How could he even try, when he’s been reduced to shivers and moans? “Good, good, just keep on like that.” 

How long does the stroking last? Seconds, hours? His Master goes slow. Infuriatingly, blindingly slow. Anakin keens. “Patience, pet.” To have patience is to— trust. Dimly he hears the crowd. Cheers, demands for faster. So many people are watching. But rather than shame, Anakin’s blood pulses with pride. All these witnesses to Obi-Wan finger-fucking him. So he can’t take back how hard he’s turned on by this— display. And Obi-Wan can never take this back. Never, ever. 

“Anakin.” Hearing his name again shocks him into paying attention. “Do something for me.” 

If Obi-Wan’s going to break the terms, then so can he. Anakin grinds out a word best he can. “Anything.” 

His Master penetrates him deeper. “Come.” 

It’s like a trigger’s been pulled. In a rush Anakin comes, complete off-guard. “Ah!” His helps convulse, spine twitching. And it’s no short affair. He comes in spasm after spasm, no end to the seed spilling onto the ground. If he had any presence of mind, he’d notice Obi-Wan fucks him, all three fingers driving relentlessly, through his infinite orgasm. The encouragement his Master whispers. But Anakin’s gone, deep inside, every nerve on fire. When the fire burns out, his Master is there to catch him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sound and sight filter in as if a mere recording. Distantly Anakin hears raucous cheers. All because he’d gotten wet at his Master’s touch and come in front of an audience? But he’s so wrung out he can’t feel the familiar heat of anger. He could fall asleep right here. Never mind the Baron and his Master exchanging words. His wrists still bound, collapsed on the feather carpet in a pool of his own bodily fluids, Anakin focuses on the beat of his heart. It’s going fast, but regular. Peacefully. 

He senses his Master approaching. A hand on his shoulder. It feels more like memory than present. “Pet, can you walk?” 

That sounds exhausting. And pointless. If this court likes a show so much, they can watch him sleep. Anakin curls his face into the crook of his elbow. 

“I see. I’ll take care of it.” His Master’s strong grip rolls him over; Force-lifts and flips him onto his shoulders like a sack of rice. It might as well be happening to another body. Anakin’s just so— when he closes his eyes, the voices are white noise, the flow of his blood all he can hear. No— he smells Obi-Wan. Leather, and his semen, and his Master. This short from dozing off, Obi-Wan carrying him back to their rooms is the best rest in Anakin’s memory. 

 

*

When Anakin comes to, Neleem’s infamously long day has ended. Their suite is dark except for points of lights flickering across the room. Candles. They cast mild yellows and oranges on his Master as he lights them. When Anakin sits up the silky sheet ripples against his bare flesh. He blushes. He’s hard _and_ wet. Anakin pulls his knees to his chest. He can’t hide his arousal but he can at least pretend. “Hey,” he says, aiming for casual. He sounds husky.

“You’re awake?” Obi-Wan asks. He picks up another candle; strikes a match. “The ritual went well. We’ll be inducted into the sect in a couple of days.” 

The problem with his knees up is that it feels like his ass is on display. Anakin shifts, folding his legs beneath him. No matter his position he feels exposed with nothing but this thin sheet. Never mind the darkness or that his Master is facing the opposite way— or that he’d just made him come before a sea of strangers. “A couple of days? Why not now?” With Neleem’s extended planetary rotation, the nights are long as well. This’ll span almost a week in standard hours. 

There’s a gentle click as Obi-Wan places the candle holder down. Glass on glass. “Well, the people here sleep too. And—” he nudges the candle half a centimetre as if honing in on the perfect spot. Can’t he leave the thing alone for _one_ second? “The Baron considers himself quite generous. He’s given me time to sate myself on you.” The notion is so incomprehensible Anakin doesn’t get it at first. He mouths the words to himself; repeats them once more. As the meaning sinks in, the heat of his blush spreads to the tips of his ears. Why’s he only got this sheet? He can’t hide. And if he gets up now he’ll be _really_ exposed, hard cock jutting out and thighs soaked in slick. 

His Master turns around. The candlelight accentuates the contours of his sharp features. Anakin’s heart stops a beat. Stars he’s sexy. Kriff the drug hasn’t worn off. “I’m assuming they’re implying you’re to be pleasured as well. Neleem seems committed to the happiness of their pets.” 

“Do we— _have_ to?” Getting his ass finger-fucked in front of the court seems suddenly mundane. Compared to the thought of his Master— using his body to— Hah. There’s no way. No matter how supportive he was back there , Obi-Wan would never debase himself so far as to pleasure himself with _him_ , as if he were some sort of toy to bring him to orgasm. Oh, damn, he shouldn’t have thought that. It’s just incited another wet gush. This stupid drug! 

Rather than answer, Obi-Wan traces one of his pronounced canines with his finger. The ghost of their bite echoes in Anakin’s flesh. If Obi-Wan still has those teeth they could dig into him again. Theoretically. And he really has to stop thinking because the whole covered in wet situation is not getting any better. At this rate Obi-Wan’s going to smell his arousal all the way from across the room. If he hasn’t already. For all he knows, _his_ drug’s given him heightened sense of smell. If Anakin could spontaneously combust, he’d do so here and now. “The pills have effectuated some physiological changes,” Obi-Wan says as if this were just another lecture. “These canines, for example. Your self-lubrication. Spikes in our hormones.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I’d read about the mood enhancers but to experience them— I hadn’t realized how intense the changes would be.” 

“You’ve kept your cool this whole time!” It’s unfair that his Master would compare longer and sharper _teeth_ to the emotional wringer Anakin’s been through. 

His Master looks at him in a way he never has before. Possessive. Predatory. Anakin’s gut coils. He’s set off something, but he’s not sure what. “You think I don’t feel it? That I wasn’t thrilled at how hard you got from me?” Words die on Anakin’s lips. He is frozen in this hot, dry night. If he’s hearing things right, then stars, oh stars. Possibilities spiral into a dizzying infinite. They could— just how _much_ touching would there be? As much as his Master would allow. “You have no idea.” Obi-wan speaks so low Anakin must lean in to hear. “Every cry, every moan. It took everything I had to not take you then and there.” 

“Master,” Anakin whispers. Without noticing his knees splay apart. Chest presses forward. 

“Now, I recognize that we’re both drugged out of our minds. But, if you’re willing—” 

In pure animal instinct Anakin launches himself. His Master catches him and their lips lock, and if Anakin had any presence of mind, he’d marvel that _this_ is their first kiss. He’d try to carve out the memory to last for all time. But his Master is holding him up, hands on his ass, and Anakin’s wrapped himself, arms and legs, round his torso, and they’re kissing as if each other’s taste is the oxygen they need to survive. Obi-Wan’s tongue probes deep into his mouth, greedy and urgent. “Ahhh,” Anakin moans. He rubs his cheek against his Master’s whiskers. He wants that sensation all over. On his stomach, rubbing him raw between his legs. If they’ve got days, then who knows. Anakin could live out every fantasy imaginable. 

Growling, Obi-Wan carries him. Anakin crashes against the wall with a skull-shaking shove. He barely notices, using the support behind him to grind into his Master, dick fucking into the tan shirt he’s wanted to tear off from the moment Obi-Wan put it on. “Just a second—” Anakin isn’t sure he could stop if his life depended on it. He undulates as his Master shoves his pants down, just an inch, enough to free his cock. 

“Hurry, hurry—” 

He needn’t have worried. Obi-Wan is just as frantic. In a single motion his Master lifts his hips; glides his hot prick into Anakin. He’s still loose and slick and far beyond ready for a fuck. The slide is smooth; perfect. As satisfying as driving a ship through the narrowest of spaces. “Kriff, Master, oh, _ngh,_ ah, ah, ah—” his Master’s beat is relentless, powerful. They might break this wall. “Harder!” Anakin tips his head back; cries with abandon as his Master sinks his teeth into his jugular. Anakin screams. Stretched and wet, his Master’s cock drills into him like there’s no escape. At his Master’s mercy, he has no choice but mind-bending pleasure. Anakin is but flesh and sensation, nerves glowing a million watts. 

The teeth come out. If blood flows it is caught by his Master, who sucks and licks the wound. “Come,” his Master commands. Anakin, who never met an instruction he didn’t want to ignore, obeys. His ass already sticky with slick, his dick gushes, spreading that wet feeling to his abs, his chest. He ruts into Obi-Wan, unconsciously willing his come to cover his Master. ‘His,’ the word sings in Anakin’s mind. ‘ _His_.’

Just as he’s released from the grip of his own orgasm, his Master gives a muffled grunt; rams up, pushing Anakin up against the wall. His shout rings Anakin’s ears; it’s the most enchanting melody he’s ever heard. He is just so _wet_ down there, come mixing with slick and dripping down the back of his thighs. 

As Obi-Wan slows his hips, they open their eyes. He looks just as stunned as Anakin’s feeling. What have they done? But the crinkles around Obi-Wan’s eyes move up. It’s the biggest grin he’s ever seen on his Master. Anakin surprises himself with a laugh. And then he can’t stop, laughing so hard his stomach hurts. And Obi-Wan, laughing with equal joy, claims his mouth with his lips.  *

The next while is a heady daze of pure fucking. They can’t keep their hands off each other; must have their naked bodies rubbing at all times. The positions and acts blur in Anakin’s mind. Him on his hands and knees, Obi-Wan standing behind and penetrating Anakin hard and fast. Each of them with their hands over their joined dicks, fists pumping and engaged in sloppy open-mouthed kisses. Obi-Wan sitting against the wall, his mouth filled with Anakin’s cock as he thrusts erratically. Come is everywhere. Their hands, their abdomens, their lips. The scent fuels Anakin’s ebullient haze. When they’re not hard—and, kriff, Anakin’s never had such a short refractory period in his _life_ , he just can’t keep his insatiable dick down—they make out. Never-ending kisses, Obi-Wan stroking his ribcage, nibbling and pinching— their time is infinite. 

Exhaustion sets in. His Master spoons him as they settle to sleep. Even then Anakin twists his head back for kisses. In a matter of minutes Obi-Wan is fucking him, Anakin’s leg straight up in the air for improved access. The room is silent except for their panting; the wet slide of dick in ass, the squelch of Anakin’s slick mixed with come. It is a lazy fuck more out of habit than driving lust. It’s just _right_ for Obi-Wan’s big dick to fill him. Anakin is a vessel for his Master’s seed. It is to fill and cover him. The joy in meeting this simple drive overwhelms his mind so that when Obi-Wan delivers another fresh load into him, biting his shoulder, Anakin hums with contentment. He’s hard as a rock as he drifts off. He couldn’t care less. His Master holds him as his breath evens out, spent dick nestled into his cheeks. When his Master is ready to fuck him again, Anakin will be the first to know. Maybe, if he’s lucky, when he wakes up his Master will already be filling him with more come. 

Neither heeds the candles melting off their wicks, the wax pooling round the bases. 

 

*

The lust comes to a lull; the calm before the storm. They both sense their bodies reloading for another marathon of mindless rutting. For now, they lie twined on the bed, content. A soft breeze from the open window cools the room. The candles have long since burned out; the morning sun is soft and dreamy. Resting his head on Obi-Wan’s chest, Anakin traces the lines of his chest. If he’d been told last week he’d get to touch his Master any way he wanted, he’d call them crazy and delusional. 

Just to prove he can, Anakin plays with his Master’s nipple, prodding and poking. Delights at how it dips in before popping back out. Obi-Wan grunts at the attention. “That’s attached to me, you know.” 

“Is that so.” He deserves more teasing. Anakin closes his lips around the sensitive flesh, razzing it with his teeth. 

This earns him a growl. “I always knew you had no concept of personal boundaries—” 

“Me? Hah.” Anakin slithers to lie on Obi-Wan as if he were a bed; as if they were made to interlock. “Says the man who walks in on me during showers— hey!“ Obi-Wan rolls them, pinning him to the thin mattress. 

“Says _you_ , who climbed into my bed well past fifteen—” The words are intercepted with kisses, a knee lodged between Anakin’s. 

Anakin laughs even as Obi-Wan ravishes his lips. “What about— unh— all the times— _oh_ — you demonstrated lightsaber techniques by holding me from behind—” 

They counter with more offences to personal space before Obi-Wan throws Anakin’s legs over his shoulders and demonstrates what a real breach of privacy looks like. Anakin loves every moment, gasping with each forceful shove. 

 

*

The day passes, bringing the room to darkness. Anakin barely notices. Obi-Wan’s kissing him, tongue thrusting into his mouth. Their hands tangle in each other’s hair. Anakin’s body is rubbed raw, from dick to ass to torso. It doesn’t matter one bit. He’d keep this up for all time. He kisses back just as hard, a leg thrown over Obi-Wan’s back to press them closer. His mind is clear of all thought. Instead, he is filled with the sound of Obi-Wan’s soft sighs; covered in a layer of their mixed sweat. There is nothing but now. 

His Master (his _Master_ ) disengages, turning his head. Anakin whines, lifting his head to chase the contact. 

“Don’t mind me,” says a honeyed voice. One that Anakin recognizes. It’s the Pet from the ceremony. Light pours in through the open doorway behind her. She bears a silver tray laden with steaming cups of tea and finger food. “The Baron asked me to check on you, bring you something for when you’re ready to eat.” 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, his gaze returning hungrily to Anakin’s. He doesn’t need to look down to know he is a mess of bruises and bite marks; a detailed map of his Master’s desires. Before the ceremony Anakin would’ve recoiled and died to be thus exposed. Now he stretches, the better to show off. He is wanted. Taken. A proud glow warms him. 

As if reading his mind, Obi-Wan bites him on the initial site that first marked him. “ _Mine_ ,” he whispers. It’s so inappropriate. Jedi don’t _have_ things, much less people. Obi-Wan said he’s not in his right mind. But if he weren’t so spent, Anakin would’ve come from that word alone. His Master wants to possess him. Does. 

Obi-Wan looks out the corner of his eye, as if to check the Pet is still there, renewing the candles; grabs Anakin’s wrists, holding them down over his head; licks into his ear, obscene and wet and delightful. “ _Hhnn_.” Anakin squirms, scandalized to be put on display; thrilled beyond words. “Ah, oh, Master, _Master_.” What is this drug doing to him? His cock is up again. 

“Enjoy,” the Pet says warmly as she leaves. “Don’t forget, you are welcome to use any of the pleasure rooms here.” 

“Hm,” Obi-Wan says. He’s still holding Anakin in place, studying his form. He blushes, embarrassed and pleased by the attention. “What do you say we visit one of them?” 

Pleasure rooms. Anakin remembers the brief he read what seemed like eons ago. Public spaces for fucking. His Master. Fucking him. In front of everyone. “Kriff.” 

His Master’s grin is downright naughty. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

 

*

Steam hangs heavy in the fresh air; round paper lamps light the way. He can barely make out the sand dunes he knows reach to the horizon. Anakin’s bare feet tingle on the warm rocks. All around are sounds of pleasure. Sighs. Moans. And, for what feels like an eternity, a cry of climax. It’s not too late to turn back. Except the leash ties him to his Master, who strides with such confidence. No matter all the fornicating from the past while— how long has it been?— this place is overwhelming. Anakin’s shoulders rise and close in as if to hide his nudity. 

“Pet.” How does he always know? Obi-Wan turns; his smile does something to ease the tightness gripping his heart. “Don’t worry. You’re here with me.” Mute, Anakin nods. Lets his Master squeeze his hand. They wind through the meandering path and Anakin can’t tell if his throat is closing up from trepidation or excitement. Alone, or so it seemed, being here was humiliating. With his Master touching him— it’s a whole other story. 

A couple catches Anakin’s eye. A woman on knees eats at another’s cunt, bobbing her head into those thick curls like she’d drinking nectar. He can’t help but watch. The woman receiving pleasure words things Anakin can’t hear, but it seems tender, somehow, even if she’s pulling on hair and grinding her hips into her mouth. Are they slick like him? He tries to see the tell-tale glint— 

Anakin clutches his throat, windpipe suddenly tight. “Eyes on me,” his Master says, relaxing his grip on the leash. It sounds breezy, like he’s just reminding him to close the door. But there’s a darker undertone. He’ll brook no disobedience. Anakin’s attention is for him alone. Because, Anakin preens, he’s Obi-Wan’s. Not forever. Just here and now, on this mission. While the drugs last. 

Anakin holds his hand tighter. 

His Master settles them by the thermal pool. It smells of sodium chloride and moss. “Kneel in the water,” his Master says. Anakin doesn’t let himself think how natural it’s become to follow Obi-Wan’s commands; how simple everything becomes when he’s not making choices. He just does as ordered. The opaque water comes to his waist, warm and relaxing. His knees feel tender on the rocks. Maybe they’ll be scratched and bruised by the end. Another sign of his Master’s possession.

Obi-Wan makes himself comfortable sitting on the side of the bank. He is languid as liquid, his smile easy and genial. “Now suck my cock.” Kriff. Anakin swallows. The cock in question is hard before him, resting against his Master’s abdomen. Who knew Obi-Wan had such a filthy mouth. If only these days could last forever, so that he could learn more of his Master’s secrets. “Come, now,” he prompts. 

Even in the heat of the pools his Master’s dick is scorching against his lips, the inside of his cheek. “Good boy.” Fingers trace his scalp. “Can you handle more?” 

Can he handle more? _Hah_. He engulfs Obi-Wan with his mouth, bobbing hard and fast. The chuckles he hears is not the response he’d been aiming for. “Slow down.” With his Master’s guidance he finds a better rhythm, one that has both of them moaning. He sucks on the head of the cock, licking eagerly and enjoying the precome. “That’s enough,” just as things are getting fun. “Don’t look at me like that, you’ll like what’s next. Sit on my lap with your back to me.” 

His Master is so demanding. As a teenager trying to escape his limitations, it’d been stifling. Anakin couldn’t wait to see the day he was on his own, deciding his own fate. Today, it’s no challenge to give in. Just let events wash against him like the ripples in this bath. Anakin drifts in the stream of Obi-Wan’s lead, safe and sound. Obi-Wan will make him feel good. He said so, and so Anakin believes him. The slick hasn’t let up, he’s still loose and wet, and he sinks onto his Master’s cock like he was built for being fucked. The angle is such that Anakin has to ride him for pleasure, and he does so with abandon, Obi-Wan’s beard rubbing into his skin as he bites, licks his neck. His hands roam over Anakin’s body, over his sides, squeezing his ass. 

Anakin tries not to think about how exposed he is. Facing forward, he is on full display. It’s not like the display at the court, he doesn’t have an audience there just to witness his submission. Still. Through the steam he sees others copulating. One Pet is on his hands and knees, barely staying in place as he’s pounded into. He and Anakin lock eyes. He’s beautiful. Not his type, but—

“You’re mine,” his Master growls. His bite becomes painful; Anakin cries out. It’s delightful. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s been flipped, his cheek on the damp, warm rocks, rear up in the air. He’d complain about the sudden lack of dick in his ass, but Obi-Wan fills him, rough, coming in from behind. 

“Ah! Ah!” Anakin is nothing but the receptacle for Obi-Wan and his will. Eyes closed, his world narrows to the clench on his hips; the in and out of flesh into his own; his connection in the Force to his Master, primordial and exacting. “Ahhhh—” 

“Say it.” 

His Master needn’t specify. “I’m yours—” 

He doesn’t know how, but Obi-Wan fucks him harder. Anakin presses his hands into the ground to keep from sliding. “Louder.”

“I’m yours!” 

The shout is accompanied by a gasp. Anakin spares a hand to clutch his throat. Obi-Wan is choking him. “Never forget,” his Master says. “You’re mine. Now come.” 

The orgasm is all-consuming. Nothing in his mind except his Master’s gentle yet powerful hold on him. He’s his Master’s. Anakin does not notice how he trashes and shouts in the throes of passion, or how Obi-Wan coaxes him through coming. But this he knows, as he and Obi-Wan have demonstrated for all to see: he is cared for. Taken and appreciated and adored. So long as Obi-Wan has him, he’s nothing to worry. 

 

*

The drug’s effects halt.

Neither one’s noticed that the sun has long since set. The candles burned their last, wax cooled into hardened disks. One second Anakin’s groaning his pleasure as his Master pounds into him; the next he’s pale, his returned inhibitions a plunge of ice water. How’s he—? Oh, kriff, Obi-Wan’s _in_ him, pulling in and out, and his throat aches from all the times Obi-Wan’s sucked on it, and he’s being held up, Obi-Wan holding his thighs firm around his waist, the wall the brace for his back, and, kriff, kriff, the collar, the damn thing, it won’t come off— 

To Obi-Wan’s credit, he stops the moment the drug wears off. Not a word passes between them as Obi-Wan pulls free of him; Anakin feels every centimetre of that final slide. How rather than being a relief, losing that thickness leaves him empty. And confused. He shouldn’t want— but even with that last extraction, Anakin can’t deny it: having someone in him feels amazing. Oh, stars. Enjoying getting his ass fucked as his Master’s pet is a part of him. It’s not intoxication. This is _him_.  Everything he ran away from is still within. 

Reminders of his weakness are everywhere. Memories pour in of Obi-Wan, kissing, gazing with adoration; how Anakin trembled as fingers traced his ribcage. Things he can never have. That he will never experience again. His own body betrays him. Anakin’s overcome with tremors borne of orgasm upon orgasm. Each shudder speaks of acute pleasure. _Never again_. This isn’t the life he’d strived for, somebody’s obedient little pet. He’s come too far. He doesn’t belong to anyone. He’s not allowed. He’s his own person. Obi-Wan made him feel so cared for, so loved, and it’s over. Never again he’ll feel that way. 

Why did he have to live this joy? If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t know what he can’t have. 

Anakin rushes for the old-fashioned shower attached to their rooms. The water is ruthlessly hot. He scrubs hard at the results from the delusion; all the skin-dried slick, the mix of come from their bodies. How had they fucked _so much_? No. It’s over. It’s past. He can’t dwell. Anakin focuses on the azure mosaic before him, willing to lose himself in the mottled swirls. If he looks at himself, he’ll see the bruises, the bites, all the things he can’t wash with water. The sooner he forgets, the faster he can get past this insanity. 

He hears Obi-Wan’s footsteps. He hates that he’s almost grateful. “How are you?” Obi-Wan asks. 

_I was your willing pet_ , Anakin thinks. “Fine.” 

“Anakin—” 

He’d cried his name out so many times. With such bliss. Anakin can see it in his mind’s eye, Obi-Wan knitted eyebrows as he came— Was it just the drugs, for Obi-Wan?

No. Anakin won’t let himself down that path. That way lies madness. “I said I’m _fine_.” 

He hears him sigh, because apparently he can’t even be fine without invoking his Master’s— Obi-Wan’s disapproval. “We have bacta patches,” Obi-Wan offers.

The remnants from the last few days aren’t that bad. The bruises will fade; the scratches heal. If they were from battle Anakin would pay them no mind. Nothing worse than what he got on the regular from sober practice. His robes will cover all but the marks on his throat. No big deal. Not really. Except they itch and he wants to scratch them off until they’re replaced with new scars— 

“Don’t be so proud. Come out, I’ll put them on you.” 

“Don’t bother!” He’s _naked_. Obi-Wan probably is still too, they were just— Anakin trembles in memory of the pleasure they shared. He can’t face him. If he sees, he’ll know. That this was more than the drugs to Anakin. 

“I see. Do you want me to leave?” 

Obi-Wan’s probably still affected by the drugs. If he weren’t, he’d have snapped out of it. Pulled out of Anakin. The insatiable lust must still be raging in him— how could he have stopped? What sort of restraint does he have that he could just halt mid-coitus? As mortified as he is now, Anakin can’t imagine having stopped while in the throes of that drug. All he’d wanted was more, more, and more of his Master. Anakin touches the collar, still there, detached from the leash for ease of— ease of facilitating their position at the time. If he weren’t already as red as he could get, he’d blush. He won’t think of it, he won’t—

“Anakin?” 

He doesn’t think. He reacts. “Don’t go.” 

“All right.” 

Anakin turns up the heat of the shower until he can barely stand the temperature. Sinks to a crouch, head buried in his knees, arms hugging his legs. There he remains until his flesh, raw from all the touch of the past few days and scalding, cannot bear the abuse anymore. He never looks back, not once. Yet he knows Obi-Wan is there. He feels his silent support through the Force. Maybe he’d feel more, if he let himself a deeper connection. He doesn’t. 

 

*

Anakin applies the bacta patches on the injuries within reach his reach; leaves to fester those that aren’t. He can’t see them anyway. 

There’s only one he still sees despite the gobs of translucent gel he rubs in. One that haunts him in the mirror. 

He doesn’t want to, would prefer his independence, but he asks Obi-Wan to have a look. “Lift your chin,” Obi-Wan encourages. Anakin lifts it a nano-centimetre; “More.” He grudgingly gives more access. At least Obi-Wan keeps his fingers off, does not try to get the angle he needs through touch. The moments in which Obi-Wan leans in to study him stretch into infinity, Anakin vibrating with constrained energy. They’ve been closer than this. They’ve kissed. They’ve fucked. When will he forget? Not soon enough. 

Finally, Obi-Wan steps back. Returns his gaze to Anakin’s eyes for a second; looks down. “That mark may not go away.” 

Anakin’s hand hovers over the imprint left when his Master pretended to claim him as his own, twin pinpricks in the juncture of throat and shoulder. Just what he needed. A symbol of his humiliation, of what he doesn’t want to want and can never have. “The others did.” 

“I’d read about it, but I hoped it wasn’t true. The drug they gave me produced a toxin that causes permanent scarring.” 

Hoped it wasn’t true. Because then Anakin would forever carry the mark signifying he’d submitted; that Obi-Wan had let himself debase so far as to take on a Pet. Hide it, Obi-Wan’s saying. Hide it from others and, most of all, hide it from yourself. Like none of this ever happened. 

Anakin draws his robe back up. When they return to the Temple, he can get an undershirt that’ll cover his throat. No one need see. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you—” 

“They’re expecting us,” Anakin interrupts. Whatever Obi-Wan’s had to wait to tell him, he doesn’t want to hear. It can’t be anything good. 

“Pardon?” 

“The Baron and the others. Our couple of days have passed. We’re due to be inducted.” Once the drug wore off, and once he’d scrubbed himself raw in the shower, Anakin read the rest of the brief. There was no more mandatory sex. He’d still have to parade about half-naked and keep the kriffing collar with its leash, but at least not more touching. If intimacy had seemed impossible before their— hedonistic haze, now Anakin can’t bear Obi-Wan’s touch. Anything more familiar than a mere glance and he’d burn. He’s a pile of kindling ready to blaze. 

To think none of what happened meant anything to Obi-Wan. 

“We don’t need to go through with it, you know. If you don’t want to.” 

Anakin laughs. To have gone through the worst of the mission only to walk out. Their bodies have already sworn a promise they can’t keep. He can live through watching Obi-Wan swear the lie that they’ll committee to each other. The damage has already been done. “This is the easy part. Let’s go.” 

As the Pet, Anakin needn’t speak at all. 

 

* 

They’ve no sooner than entered hyperspace than Anakin tears at the collar. 

Behind him, Obi-Wan’s preparing a report for the Council. “Thus, it is our conclusion that Neleem, while engaging in consensual possessive relationships, shows no sign of engaging in slavery.” 

There’s no latch. It’s sewn together. The leather is thick. He can barely even catch a finger under much less get any leverage— 

“Is there anything you’d like to add to the report, Anakin?” 

No sane person should ever set foot on that planet. It should be sealed off from the rest of the galaxy so it can’t lure in anyone else with its siren song. “Nope,” is all Anakin says. 

“Do you need help with that?” 

“I’m good.” If he gets a knife, he can saw at the material. Anakin rummages through his utility belt. 

“Anakin.” Ah. That tone of voice. Obi-Wan’s going to try to impart some kind of wisdom. Anakin refuses to engage, pulling out a plain metal knife. So old fashioned, like something out of Wattoo’s junk shop. “None of this is your fault, I hope you realize. There is no shame in what took place.” 

Did the drugs ever wear off for Obi-Wan? Anakin never noticed a change in him. For all he can tell, he might be under its influence still. 

He tests the blade against his palm. It’s plenty sharp. 

No matter the social cues before him, Obi-Wan persists with his platitudes. “And if you find you wish you could return—” 

Anakin wishes for strength. The power to do as he pleases. To forget temptation. 

Later— much, much later— it occurs to Anakin that perhaps Obi-Wan himself wished to return. That he spoke not just for Anakin’s benefit but for his own as well. The revelation cascades in changes to their lives Anakin could never fathom, much less hope for. 

For today, Anakin cuts him off before he can say the impossible. “No. This is all there is.” 

The leather yields, by the knife severed.


End file.
